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Life, Cars and Momentum

Kill Bambi’s bitch

When we lived in Southern California, deer were considered magical creatures, just a notch below fairies and unicorns. They were delicate, cute and graceful creatures; they glided and pranced through the magical forests, delicately nibbling at wild grass shoots in the heart of their kingdom. The bucks seemed strong and majestic and the doe fragile, with an almost tender gaze.

Then we moved east.
We learned quickly that those tick carrying, disease spreading and yard devouring vermin need to go. Bambi can stay – it’s the bitches that need to get dead. But according to a recent article by “MyFoxDC,” just how that happens is up for some debate.

Here’s the link about a recent deer crisis at Rock Creek Park: http://www.myfoxdc.com/story/24350518/sharpshooters-take-aim-at-rock-creek-park-deer#axzz2pvV1um8t

Or another one about the Manassas Battlefield: http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/virginia-politics/park-service-deer-control-plan-at-manassas-battlefield-wont-include-public-hunting/2013/08/30/05b589c6-118b-11e3-bdf6-e4fc677d94a1_story.html

At the Manassas Battlefield, for example, there are 82 deer per square mile; 20 is the right number, according to the National Forest Service. So while it’s understandable why many people are put off by sharpshooters and deer huntsman, consider that deer are the basic equivalent of a large, hooved rat. But more, and less intelligent. My dog is smarter. Hell, my cat offers more.

Regardless. If intelligence determined survival, we’d have far fewer politicians. There are just too many damn deer. You can sterilize the mamas, put a cork up their who-whos, but it still doesn’t change the fact that there are TOO MANY DAMN DEER.